


stir

by visiblemarket



Category: Constantine (TV)
Genre: M/M, a lot of my own personal headcanons disguised as character introspection oops, mentions of past relationships - Freeform, references of past child abuse, summer of id fic, vague porn, waking up together is the easiest metaphor on earth AND THAT'S WHY I LOVE IT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 15:37:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20176681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/visiblemarket/pseuds/visiblemarket
Summary: Chas has never liked sleeping alone.





	stir

John is next to him. Still asleep, a few inches away. Breathing soft and steady, shoulders loose, the beginning of a bruise blossoming on the side of his neck. Curled up, radiating satisfied warmth even though they aren’t quite touching.

Chas is surprised he’s still there — will probably continue to be surprised, every time he wakes up with John in his bed.

Chas sighs and leans forward, pressing his face into the soft, mussed hair. Takes a breath, and shuts his eyes, hoping to fall back asleep — not quite ready to face another day with John but more than willing to share a bed with him for just a little bit longer.

It isn’t that Chas minds. 

Chas likes that he sticks around. Is _chuffed_, as John would say, that he’s stopped skulking away in the middle of the night, doing a terrible job of keeping Chas from noticing he was leaving. That he’s decided to stick around without Chas even having asked.

Chas isn’t complaining — would never complain, not about this. He’s woken up to worse, and his mornings now sometimes even start with sweet, sleepy kisses and drowsy mutual hand jobs. 

The problem is, he’s getting used to it.

No.

The problem is, he’s _gotten_ used to it.

*

Chas has never liked sleeping alone. 

He and John have that in common, though John would sulk and sneer and snap if you brought it up — there’s a reason he’ll usually spend the night, even with one-night stands, for all that he’ll sneak out the moment the sun’s up if there’s any chance of a morning after with any kind of _expectation_ to it.

Chas hasn’t had a one-night stand in almost two decades, but he’d also much rather wake up with someone then not. For similar reasons as John's, he thinks: there are no _good nights_ in his memories of childhood, no soft lullabies or night lights. No rest, not really, only lying awake in stuttering, anxious consciousness, wavering between the dangerous vulnerability of sleep, and the steady, inescapable drag of exhaustion. Falling, with the knowledge that he might not wake up again, that he might be better off if he didn’t. 

His mother’d always been easier to avoid in the morning — sleeping late, and Chas had relished the hours before dawn, as much peace as he ever had in that house. He thinks John’s father was much the same — usually passed out through the morning, still drunk or too hung over to add to the black eyes or split lips he’d visited on his son the night before.

Chas winces at the thought — he’d been too big to smack around since he was ten but John — John’d always been small for his age. Cheryl had said so, once, casual and almost teasing, the mutual trauma between her and John an unhealed bruise she couldn’t help prodding at. A_lways a skinny one, our John_, she’d said. _Tryin’ to make less of a target, I shouldn’t wonder._

Chas reaches out. Runs his palm along John’s side, over his ribs. 

_Good to see you putting on weight for once,_ Cheryl had said. To John, but observing Chas out of the corner of her eye. She’d thought they were sleeping together back then, in the illegal London flat he’d let John crash for a few weeks that turned into almost a year. And they had been, technically, curled up beneath the cheap comforter in the winter, sharing body heat, tacitly ignoring the more-than-occasional morning hard-ons. 

Chas had gotten used to it then, too: John’s sharp elbows and hair still crisp with gel, the scent of cheap liquor and stale cigarettes and sweat. His nightly tossing and turning and his nervous, frightened sounds. The way he’d let Chas stroke his back and doze off again, bad dreams dispatched for the time being, problems solved or at least forgotten. 

And then it ended.

No one’s fault, really — not John's, who’d always been on the lookout for the next warm bed to fall into, and maybe one where he’d actually be able to get his dick wet; not Chas's, who’d had no illusions otherwise. 

But Chas had missed him — the mess of him, the chaotic, unpredictable presence. Another person in the apartment, someone to cook for, wait for, come home to. Someone to worry about — or at least wonder at — his absences. Someone to fall asleep with, someone to wake up to. 

John hums, distantly, and Chas feels the bed shift as he turns. 

John’s hand finds his shoulder, and slides down, trailing along his back. Pulls himself closer, insinuating himself against Chas’s chest. Tucks his face against Chas’s throat, nose nuzzling at his Adam’s apple. Chas wraps his arm around John's waist, and sighs.

It’d been different with Renee — not better, not worse. Just different. 

They’d kept opposing hours from the start — he’d always preferred driving at night, made better tips that way, and she hadn’t had anything but a nine-to-five job since college. But they’d had the late nights and early mornings — she’d been a sound sleeper, thankfully, had no problem with him coming in at four in the morning and sliding in next to her. Would drift closer to him in her sleep: head resting on his chest, hair loose and soft against his shoulder, one leg tucked between his thighs. A morning quickie, occasionally, if they were both up before the alarm. 

And then weekends, and holidays, and Geraldine — Geraldine was a restless sleeper, had been since she was a baby, had needed Chas to hold her and rock her and hum to her, whatever half-forgotten melodies he could remember. They’d moved her to her own room and had a hell of a time getting her to stay there — Chas’d gotten used to coming home and finding mother and daughter fast asleep, together on the far side of the bed, as if waiting for him. 

A few good years like that — or least he’d thought they were good years. Still thinks of them, wonders when it was things began to fall apart. 

He’d moved into the guest room — his old room, long-since refurnished but unfortunately familiar — months before the official separation. He hadn’t been sleeping well, still consumed with memories of the fire, the crush of people, the smoke in his lungs. The guilt and the fear and the anxious energy to be _out there, doing something_, pulling him out of bed, even after long shifts behind the wheel. Renee could deal with a husband that kept odd hours — a husband that didn’t sleep at all and spent his nights pacing her house like a frustrated ghost was perhaps a bridge too far.

He’d slept better on trips with John. 

Better, but still not _well_ — on stiff sheets, in cold rooms, missing the sound of someone else’s breathing, the warmth of another body next to him. 

John mumbles something against his skin, nosing drowsily at the underside of his chin. Chas pulls him in closer, resting his cheek against the top of John’s head. Takes in the scent of his hair — sweet and clean and like the shower Chas cajoled him into taking before coming to bed last night — and smiles at the warm puffs of air blossoming against his neck.

The separation had and hadn’t helped: he’d started sleeping through the night again, but would wake up still exhausted and confused, reaching out for something without knowing what it was.

John kisses his throat, hand sliding back up Chas’s spine till he can run his fingers through Chas’s hair — a gentle, slow exploration, as if reminding himself of how it felt. He lets out a soft, satisfied sigh before quieting, letting his arm drop around Chas's waist. 

Chas has to smile, and runs his hand down John’s back.

John was never entirely opposed to physical affection before — had always appreciated Chas's hands on him, sometimes rolling his eyes at the hugs but drifting into his space anyway. Leaning into Chas, sometimes, when they were standing side to side, until Chas draped his arm across John’s shoulders, or wrapped his hand around the nape of John's neck. Touching John had been — uncomplicated, almost instinctual. 

Then they'd fucked, and John had panicked. 

Tried, unsuccessfully, to hide it — become brittle and blustery, shying away from Chas when they weren't messing around, trying to overwhelm him with affection once they were. Clinging to Chas when he came and slinking away once they were done, waiting just as long as it took Chas to turn off the lights and feign sleep. Maybe that was what John had always wanted to do — even with the one-night stands — and having his own room within walking distance just made it easier. Maybe he’d just known Chas wasn’t about to do anything about it — still too caught up in finally getting what he’d denied wanting for so long, still too terrified of losing it to question anything. Or maybe John was just using him — needing Chas for just that and nothing else, having no reason to pretend otherwise anymore.

Chas could've lived with that. Chas had certainly lived with worse. 

John presses his knee between Chas's thighs, nuzzling at Chas's throat again. 

"You awake?" John mumbles, stifling a yawn into Chas's shoulder.

"Mostly, " Chas says.

“Mostly?” John asks, curious, and reaches between them. “Ah,” he says, and gives Chas a slow, almost thoughtful stroke. “Not in the mood?”

“Could be persuaded,” he says, as if he hasn't been already: getting up can wait, _reality_ can wait. For just a little while longer, this is all there is or needs to be. He brings his hand to John’s chin and and tips his face up. 

"Could you, now?" John murmurs, smirking a little as Chas kisses him. 

Soft, at first, almost careful — he’s not sure why, it’s not as if John’s going to bolt _now_, not five minutes from getting off. 

Chas slides his hand back down John’s chest and to his erection. Gives a few quick, easy strokes as John opens his mouth and slips his tongue past Chas’s lips. 

They’re both breathing fast — quick, hot puffs of air between them when they separate, searching for better angles. Chas shifts, lining himself up to John. Wraps his hand around them both. 

John lets go of his cock and sways into him, grabbing at Chas’s shirt, then his shoulder — drops his head again, pressing his forehead to Chas’s chest. 

Chas can’t see his face — can’t tell if he’s watching the slow, slick slide of his cock against Chas’s, or screwing his eyes shut, desperate to last a little longer.

Chas can’t quite say how it started — him and John and mornings like this — and hates to think how it will end. It’s new and it’s strange, but it’s not: John _fits_, around him, against him, and —

Chas comes, spilling into his own hand, and John follows, panting into Chas’s skin, nosing fondly at the base of his throat.

Still tangled up, still trying to catch their breaths, they lie together. John's fingers trip along the wrinkled, rucked up fabric of his t-shirt. 

"Why've you got this on again?" John breathes, leaning back a little to look Chas in the eye. Picks at Chas's shirt once more before sneaking his palm under and up Chas's spine. 

"I get cold sometimes. At night." 

John snorts. "Do you?" he says, rhetorically incredulous. “Runs hotter than a bloody furnace, he does, but sometimes he gets _cold_."

"John—"

“Got to admit I’m a bit insulted, mate," John says, pressing into Chas's space again. “Here I thought we were keepin’ each other warm. Guess we’re both just gonna have to try harder, eh?"

"Could just get another blanket," Chas teases, light, as he curls up around John. "Maybe some pajamas..."

“Waste of money, love,” John mumbles. "And time, what with the extra laundry an' all that." John _tsks_, full of mock concern. "Christ, mate. Dunno what you'd ever do without me."

Chas muffles a laugh into John's hair. 

"Good question,” he hears himself say, and kisses the top of John's head. 

*

**Author's Note:**

> maybe this _was_ inspired by a [video](https://morethanonepage.tumblr.com/post/186841723996/astreals-oh-my-goddd-i-thought-it-was-great-from) of a cute dog and cat cuddling BUT WHAT OF IT???


End file.
